A Study In Black
by NotYourDamsel
Summary: A case leads the Queen's Guard Dog to a certain Duke's manor where nothing seems to be amiss. Though, a curly-haired servant with too much knowledge in his eyes and mouth firmly shut proves to be just the variable needed to get the dice rolling.


**Summary: **A case leads the Queen's Guard Dog to a certain Duke's manor where nothing seems to be amiss. Though, a curly-haired servant with too much knowledge in his eyes and mouth firmly shut proves to be just the variable needed to get the dice rolling.

**Warnings: **Typical Canon Violence, Sebastian's Smexiness, Ciel's Brattiness (I luv him tho), Sherlock's Brilliance, John's BAMFness, Crossdressing!, AU, Dimension Hopping, Sherlock Being Bored, Where Is The Bloody Milk?, I Blame Sherlock, Too Much Sherlock Memes Leads to This Madness, Demons, Reapers, Sherlock Wanting to Experiment, It's Science Jawn!, Sherlock NO, etc.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Sherlock, we'd see more of the Johnlock Dynamics, Mycroft being the Big Bro he truly is (deep down inside), Lestrade acting like an exasperated dad, Mrs. Hudson being BAMF, and etc. If I owned Black Butler it'll actually _follow _the **damn manga **(which this fic will, so no Alois or anybody else), Edward dearest will get more screentime, and Sohma, and Agni, also the Phantomhive Servants, more Phantomhive Family Dynamics, and etc.

* * *

.

The case was one of a kind. Head-scratching, confused eyes, mind-blowing proportions.

Thirty-five women—of different ages and classes—all gone missing with no evidence left behind.

Usually, such a problem would not pass by the Earl's desk. But the Queen's own _niece _had become one of the Missing Ladies and as the Queen's Guard Dog, he mist sniff out the criminal and… _remove _him from her sights.

Another day, another case. Normal, almost routinely, for Ciel.

He had received Her Majesty's orders after breakfast just this morning, the Royal Seal familiar against the red wax and high-grade envelope, the smell of baked sweets and something floral (white roses, perhaps? The Queen had liked them, since her late husband used to shower her with the very same flowers even after they've married) wafting pleasantly in the air. Sebastian, ever the dutiful butler, had fetched the letter opener as soon as his eyes had seen the symbol, and handed it over to his young master.

The words were a bit different, more personal, but it held the same message as all the previous ones had:

_Find them, my dearest Earl. And make sure they receive their due._

"Sebastian," the boy—no, he was the Earl Phantomhive now—started crisply, putting the letter down on his desk as he stood up from his chair. "Prepare a carriage. We will be journeying to London as soon as possible."

The tall, fair man bent down to his waist: a picture-perfect form with a gloved-hand placed above his non-existent heart.

"Yes, My Lord."

* * *

.

"No bodies have been found?"

The butler shook his head, carrying a list seemingly printed by a typewriter, but is actually the black-clad man's own handwriting.

"No, My Lord. And the women have all gone in the very same way."

"By their own volition, isn't it?"

Sebastian nodded once again. "Yes. Multiple eyewitnesses and testimonies from neighbors and friends alike have proven that the Missing Ladies have gone through their usual routine before disappearing with only their best clothes worn and an absent, blank smile on their faces."

He placed a hand underneath his chin, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "The Scotland Yard has tried finding a connection between the victims, but have so far found none. Neither have I, in that aspect. Age, class, race, occupation, relationship, business—all of the Missing Ladies have been random regardless of age or social standing. Even a nun and an old grandmother have been taken captive as well, much to the people's horror."

Ciel rested his cheek on a clenched fist, leaning on the armrest of his chair and looking shrewdly at his servant. "So, there are no leads regarding this case at all?"

Sebastian's eyes twinkled, flashing a bright ruby red before returning to its deep, wine hues.

"Ah, but I would not be a Phantomhive butler if I could not do such a simple task, now, can't I?"

* * *

.

Exiting the carriage, the young Earl swept his visible eye on the surroundings his butler's investigation has carried them.

"_All of the Missing Ladies have not a single connection between them, but they do seem to like the same flowers. White lilies, to be exact."_

"_Curious, isn't it? For white lilies are usually preserved for __**funerals**__."_

"This is the Duke Fiore's residence?" Ciel asked, and received a, "Yes, My Lord." From Sebastian.

The gates were large and black, and from what he can see of the front garden, multitudes of various flowers—some that should not be even in season!—were blooming beautifully regardless of the gloomy weather the day has brought.

A footman greeted them in the front, and a butler soon intercepted them to show them the way to the door.

"The Duke will see you shortly, Earl Phantomhive."

Ciel (and Sebastian) was left in a music room of sorts, where a sleek, black grand piano sat on the side where a towering, glass window let way to the garden outside. The furnitures were of the finest Italian brand, with a dark mahogany shade and plush cushions that sink when one should sit.

It was uncomfortable.

Sebastian stood ever faithfully on the behind of his right, ramrod straight but never stiff, posture impeccable and a charming smile on his fair face.

The doors opened and in came the Duke of the House: Duke Luciano Fiore was a lanky man with slicked-back, chestnut hair, bright hazel eyes where laugh lines weathered his face.

A bulter followed him soon after, one with curly hair and sharp eyes muddled with grey, blue and green. It was an interesting mix, one that even Sebastian can appreciate for the imperfect perfection that it was.

But his expression was… most intriguing.

Most servants wore a mask of indifference, blank and closed-off. The definition of professional. A select few had expressions of relaxed contentedness, showing closeness with the family they served. Some were fearful—of their status, business, or just plain intimidated, it didn't matter.

Then there were those who were disgusted, who abhorred the 'monsters' they were forced to bend over for.

This servant's face belonged to the last category, although skillfully kept in bay as he wordlessly served them tea with all the air of somebody who was "just here for your convenience, nothing more".

"Ah, young Earl!" Duke Fiore greeted with much cheer the Italians were infamous for, an easy smile on his lips. Sebastian felt more than saw the eyeroll the curly-haired servant fought the urge to do. He could relate, the false sweetness in the other noble's voice was practically poisonous honey. It was a wonder why the (clearly intelligent) servant still stuck around such a fake master. Perhaps he has been blackmailed?

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

Ciel leaned slightly back onto his seat, chin raised slightly up and eye looking down flatly at the suspect of his case. "I have heard many great things of you, Duke Fiore, and your abundance of flowers that grow no matter what the season." He tilted his head towards the garden outside. "It seems that those rumors have truth within them."

Duke Fiore laughed, flushing slightly at the praise (again, the curly-haired servant managed _just _to not snort. Sebastian was having fun seeing the various levels of hate and annoyance that radiated in his uniquely colored eyes). "Ah, those are merely exaggerations, Earl Phantomhive! And? Are you interested in ordering some flowers of your own?" The Duke eagerly leaned forward, and Ciel contained his silence for a few minutes before replying, "I have been searching for a bouquet fit for my fiancée, since I have not visited her in months and have felt guilty of not accompanying her in the last ball she had asked me to."

(The curly-haired butler raised an eyebrow. _A lie? What for?_)

Duke Fiore's eyes sparkled. "Ah, yes! Women can be unpredictable beings controlled by their emotions! Why, I have just the flower arrangement for you!" Snapping his fingers, he turned to the curly-haired butler and said, "Sherlock, fetch for Joan and ask her to bring Emily's latest work, won't you?"

The curly-haired butler—Sherlock, was it? A curious name for a curious fellow—bowed (Sebastian noticed that it was barely polite, just the barest of dips before leaving) and proceeded to do just that, quiet as a wraith.

Ciel hummed. "Not much of a talker?" Duke Fiore shook his head, adopting a wistful, sad look as if he was having a trip down the memory lane. His voice softened as he told them Sherlock's story, "Ah, please do excuse his behavior. I have found Sherlock and Joan—a maid of mine in charge of the gardens—in a… not so nice place, and an incident has left him devoid of his voice ever since." With a sigh, he swirled the contents of his cup. "He has been distant to anyone but sweet, little Joan, and refuses to frolic with his co-workers. I have barely managed to get him to come with me to greet you, in fact!"

"And why did you?" Ciel mused, taking a sip of his Earl Grey and briefly grimacing. Who put milk in _Earl Grey_? "Take him with you to greet me, that is."

At this, Duke Fiore chuckled uneasily before clearing his throat. "Ah, yes, well—I hope you don't mind my cautiousness, but I have brought Sherlock along with me to… see if you were lying or a fraud, dearest Earl."

"How so?" Ciel asked, for once interested in making small talk.

The Duke smiled. "Well, Sherlock here—he's a _genius_! For being a peasant, he's got a rather high level of intellect and a very good memory. He could even deduce where you've been for the past week with merely your clothes and nails!"

Ciel shared a glance with Sebastian.

(Whoever this Sherlock was, he would know if there was something fishy happening in the manor)

"Is that so?" he breathed out, displaying rapt attention and wonder in his lone eye. "I must admit, I am now curious of this Sherlock character. Would you be so kind as to let him figure out where I've come for the past week?"

"Surely, why not? It'll help to alleviate his boredom, it will!"

* * *

.

"Sherlock? Are you—"

"Not now, Jo—Joan, there's something… strange, with out newest guests."

A cocked eyebrow, and a thoughtful frown. "Oh? How so?"

Sherlock scowled. "I don't know… that butler, Sebastian…"

"_I can't get a read on him."_

* * *

.

"So, is the Duke the real suspect?"

"Without a doubt, young master," Sebastian replied. They were now in one of the guestrooms in the Duke Fiore's manor, having been offered the perfect chance to conduct their investigation since it was late, and the London Phantomhive Estate was far away.

"There have been traces of sexual assault in the maids that I have glimpsed, and their reactions to me—a man, have fully evidenced of previous… _advances_ to their femininity, my lord."

With a disgusted glare to the floor, Ciel waved him off to continue his report.

"Furthermore, I have discovered at least three secret passageways that seem to be leading underground, and that several beds of poppies are being grown in the far west side of the gardens, leading me to believe that Duke Fiore is also selling or trading drugs. It could also be drugs that have 'bewitched' the Missing Ladies to leave their homes voluntarily."

"And? What else?" Sebastian smiled. It wasn't a pleasant one.

Just then, a knock sounded from the door of the Earl's temporary bedroom.

"Come in."

The door opened, and in came Sherlock, still wearing his uniform and looking politely ruffled. It was to be expected, since it was currently ten minutes before midnight.

"Mr. Sherlock, how nice of you to agree to my request, off-putting as it was. Please, take a seat."

Sherlock observed the room, and shook his head. Ah, so he is still refraining from speaking, then?

Ciel laced his fingers underneath his chin, and bore his one-eyed gaze towards the 'mute' man. "I'll cut right to the chase: you know about your master's shady dealings, aren't you?"

Sherlock still hasn't said anything, but offered a slight, amused smile.

"Then why haven't you told the Yard?" Here, Sherlock shook his head, glancing to the door and closing his eyes.

"It's Joan, isn't it? Your friend."

Another smile, this time more pained and dry.

"Do you know where he has been keeping the Missing Ladies?" A shake. "But you _do _have an idea where they are being held?"

Sherlock shot him a _look_, as if telling him that, "Of _course _I know where they are, why do you think Joan is being used against me?"

Sebastian laughed quietly behind his glove.

Sighing in irritation, Ciel handed Sherlock a piece of paper and pen. "Here," he said, tapping the blank sheet. "Write down all you know and the evidence that will put the Duke behind bars. In exchange, I'll take both of you in as my servants." Ciel smirked. "It'd be a waste to let a mind like yours get away scot free, after all."

With a grin containing too many teeth, Sherlock wrote down _everything _he knew, saw, heard and deduced whilst humming a random song.

* * *

.

The next day saw to a sunny morning, complete with singing birds and Duke Fiore's cursing.

Sherlock's pleased expression was an uncanny similarity to a cat getting the cream, and the short woman beside him—Joan—was smiling at him with exasperated fondness.

The Missing Ladies were found in the basement, drugged and bounded by chains and wearing scandalous clothing with articles of BDSM equipment littered about. It was, in short, a sex dungeon. And a tacky one, at that.

"Thank you, Lord Phantomhive," Joan Watson said, curtsying lowly with her head bowed. Her voice was deeper than most, but still held the soft quality and demureness any maid who knew better had. "We are now in your debt and hands. Please, tell us to carry out any orders and we will." Then she smiled, sharp and like a shark's. It was ominous on her round, peaceful face. "Especially if it's hunting down criminals. Me and Sherlock used to do it as a… hobby, of sorts."

"Indeed?" Sebastian purred, and was pleasantly surprised when it didn't affect the blonde. Sherlock scoffed and, finally opening his mouth, said, "Such painfully obvious attempts at wooing her will not deter my Joan, Mr. Sebastian. Also, it was _not _a hobby, Joan."

"Of course," she nodded obligingly. "It was a cure for your boredom, yes?"

Sherlock pouted. Sebastian found their exchange almost endearing.

"Ah, before I forget." They all turned to face Sebastian, who was already holding the reins. "Would you like a spare change of clothes, Ms. Watson? I'm sure that a corset would be hurtful for a male's body."

Ciel blinked, then twisted to regard the gaping maid and chortling butler. _"What?"_

* * *

**.**

**A/N: AHHHHH! I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THIS CROSSOVER! Also, this is a Sebastian x Sherlock pairing, while I'm still not sure with John's (yes, she is still a he. No, it's not Johnlock, sorry). The reason behind SebasLock (SherTian? Someone help me and give me a better ship name, plz) was that, I can see Sebastian being **_**interested **_**to this smart human, who is every bit of strange and wonderfully chaotic. Also, I'm pretty sure Sherlock would be just as interested (if not more) to this painfully perfect butler and all but **_**investigating **_**what the bloody hell this man is.**


End file.
